


Hermione's Sacrifice

by AnnieforSimonsflower



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Three of Hearts, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-23
Updated: 2005-10-23
Packaged: 2018-10-27 19:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10815129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieforSimonsflower/pseuds/AnnieforSimonsflower
Summary: Hermione comforts Harry on the anniversary of Ron





	Hermione's Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> This story is archived on behalf of Simons_flower, who passed away in 2009, by her designated archivist.

**Author's Note:** Companion piece to _Sacrifices_.

** Hermione's Sacrifice **

Though we have been married nineteen years, I know I'm not his first love. For that matter, not even his second or third. His first died, his second is flying and his third is our children. I married him to rescue him, otherwise his first two loves would have killed him.

He sequesters himself in the basement every anniversary – _his_ anniversary, not ours. This year, however, it was different. It's been twenty years. Twenty years since the Golden Trio was made a Duo.

The battlefield that day was a mass of confusion, even more so than most of the battles of the war. Ron had talked to me about Harry many times, finally asking a few days before the final battle about how he should confront Harry about the feelings he had for our other best friend.

I don't know how or when Ron seduced Harry, though I know it happened. Remus seduced me that night, so I was in no position to notice those two.

I know it happened because Harry has never been the same. Oh, he looks the same but for that second scar: his emerald eyes still plead with me for comfort and more, his body language still begs for love. However, I am not the one who can truly fulfill those wishes. That person is dead.

When I found Harry on the battlefield, he and Ron had worked their way to Voldemort. Ron, as always, was providing back-up, covering Harry's back while Harry taunted Voldemort. I was ready with the box we hoped we wouldn't need.

We existed there in a bubble of silence. I could see the battle raging around us, but couldn't hear it.

Harry succeeded in taunting Voldemort sufficiently to get him to cast the Killing Curse, as the three of us had expected. What he and I can't get over is Ron's sacrifice of himself; that he jumped in front of the Curse and died to protect Harry.

Shock nearly froze us. Harry thawed before I did, casting the Killing Curse back at Voldemort in a voice I hope to never hear again in my lifetime. It worked, disintegrating his physical form. I captured his escaping soul in an unbreakable, permanently-sealed box.

The bubble broke: a cacophony of sound from the battle crashed over us.

Through all that, I could hear Harry's keening.

He had collapsed to the ground, wrapping his arms around Ron's lifeless body, screaming at the fates and Voldemort that he deserved better. There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do for him that would fix it.

I could merely stand and watch, my own tears streaming through the grime on my face.

His anguish became tangible. Every person in a twenty-mile radius felt his anguish when he expelled it from himself. Afterward, he sat on that battlefield of torn earth, clutching Ron's body and crying.

I held the box until Aurors took it from me to bury it in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. Then, for the first time in my life, I did not know the next step.

I watched as Harry became completely undone. I had no way of comforting him; I didn't know what to say. I felt useless, like an afterthought. My best friend was cradling the dead body of my other best friend and I didn't matter.

It must have been less than five minutes, but it has lasted a lifetime.

There were hands on my shoulders, hands on Harry, trying to pull us away from Ron. I pulled my wand and threatened to hex all of them if they didn't go away. They backed off to a respectable distance.

Slowly, I moved toward Harry, resting my hands on his back. His tear-filled eyes lashed upward at me, ready to curse me if I attempted to pull him away. Kneeling beside them, the only thing I said was, "He loved you, you loved him."

That exchange has set the tone for the last twenty years. On _his_ anniversary, Harry becomes disconsolate. We married a few months after the first anniversary, more so I could take care of him than for a deep and abiding love.

By the time of our wedding, he had tried to commit suicide twice by Muggle methods. He tried once more before I told him I was pregnant with our first child.

We named our first son Ronald.

However, on this day the twentieth anniversary, Harry wants me with him. He wants to talk.

I send our three children away with my parents. They're young enough to look forward to the adventure of a night with grandparents.

Nearly as soon as the door is closed behind them, Harry pulls me to the sofa and buries his face in my shoulder.

"I loved him, Hermione. I loved the bastard and never got to tell him."

I stroke his hair much the same way I do for our children when one is upset. "He knew, Harry."

He tilts his head up and meets my gaze. "I loved Ron."

Though he has never said the words, I know the sentiment has been driving him for the last twenty years. Though he does love me, I will always be fourth behind his love for our children, his love for flying and his love for Ron.


End file.
